More
by KFAnon
Summary: KinkMeme Prompt fill. Pre-Caskett: they touch themselves, just to alleviate their UST, but don't go all the way so as not to complicate things too much between them. S4.


**Kink Meme prompt:**

**_CB  
>Pre-Caskett: they masturbate in front of the otherone another, just to alleviate their UST, but don't go all the way through with having sex so as not to complicate things too much between them. Preferably s3-s4 (just not angry!Beckett from s1)._**

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><p><strong>Notes: This takes place during S4, but - as you'll see - episodes have been altered a little to fit in with the prompt.<strong>

**I was going to fill a Kink Meme prompt a day. I had a folder full of prompts and a ton of ideas. But people got pissy because I didn't always stick to the prompts, and rude reviews killed any enthusiasm I had to fill more prompts. This one's been sitting the harddrive for a few weeks now. May as well post it and just put up with the crap I'll inevitably recieve. So here's my last Kink Meme fill of the year. You'll see this one doesn't stay 100% true to the prompt either. Consider that your warning not to read if you can't handle a little creativity.  
><strong>

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><p>The first time was an accident. Or so he had claimed.<p>

Crawling on his shoulders in search of the laird's lug, his hands had slipped between her legs, gripping her – too briefly – through the denim. With the phantom feel of his fingers brushing her clit, she had struggled to focus on the task. When they'd found the secret alcove, and left for the night, she'd found the courage to brush her fingertips against his ass – and squeezed. His surprised squeak had amused her.

"Payback," she'd murmured.

She thought that would be it. The end of this teasing game. But he'd reached for her in the dark street, pulled her body to his, until she could feel the hard press of him along every inch of her thrumming body. Her eyes locked on his, arousal making his blue eyes seem dangerous and dark, and as his body tensed against hers she knew he was holding back. Knew he was waiting. For her. Bridging the small space between them, she leaned in and covered his lips with her hot, open mouth. She sucked his lower lip between hers, grazing it lightly with her teeth while her hands roamed up his back. One hand ghosted up his neck and slid through his soft, short hair, the other clutched at his back, a firm grip on his jacket. Fire replaced the blood in her veins, coursing through her, shooting down, stoking a relentless heat between her legs. She almost lost herself, with his tongue in her mouth, his growing erection so damn close to where she needed him, the tips of his fingers delving beneath her clothes, burning a trail along her overheated skin. But then she allowed a thought to enter her mind, somehow it pushed its way through the addle of arousal, and it forced her to release his lips, drop her hands from his hair, and take just a tiny step back.

She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat; her wide eyes fixed on him beneath the glow of the streetlight, as it cast hard shadows over his face and hid his eyes from her. She allowed her palm to rest on his chest, let it linger there a moment, before she pushed away from him, and put space between them. "I don't think this is a good idea," she murmured.

He crowded into her space again, snagged her hand but held it with a gentle touch. "You heard me," he hissed, his voice low but not unkind. "You know how I feel."

She forced herself to find his eyes in the darkness, but said nothing, no confirmation, she just held a breath and waited.

"If you don't return those feelings, just say so now. Give me that at least. But if you do…"

She ducked her head, and took a moment to inhale a deep breath. With renewed courage she glanced up again – and nodded. "But—"

"You're not ready," he said on a sigh.

"No," she whispered.

His lips grazed her cheek, slid against the soft shell of her ear, and he breathed, "Not for a relationship, but that moment, just then? You're ready for more, Kate."

Her voice caught in her throat. She met his dark eyes, and asked, "What are you suggesting?"

And then he'd tugged her down a hidden alley, pressed her back against the hard bricks of silent buildings, and in the shadows she had waited to feel his hand slip down her tight pants and glide through her folds. But instead, he'd said, "Touch yourself."

With his body pressed to hers, the hard, hot pressure of his growing erection between them, and the cold, sharp wall behind her, she'd eased her hand down her pants, until she could feel him bulging against her knuckles through layers of material, and touched a finger to her clit. His own hand slid his zipper down, eased his hard length out, and they rubbed against each other, adding pressure to over-sensitized places. With his lips grazing her skin, trailing sloppy, uncoordinated kisses to her cheek, her jaw, her lips, and her hand down her pants, she soon reached her peak. A hot coil wound too tight within her broke apart, forcing a shuddering cry of release through her parted lips. Her release spurred his on, and he came hard, shooting hot bursts onto the bricks beside her.

She reached for his face with the hand not down her pants, cupped his jaw, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "More?" she breathed against his mouth as she pulled back.

"More," he agreed.

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><p>Coy smiles were shared over coffee at her desk, lingering looks passed between them, but neither actually spoke of the evening, the dark alley, the impulse they had acted on. And neither spoke further of the want for more. But their eyes said it all, when they were alone, away from colleagues, she saw everything he couldn't ask, and communicated it all back to him.<p>

And then they'd been trapped in a basement with no idea how they'd found themselves there, and it had happened again.

She'd been trying to get on his shoulders, like last time, only with a hint more desperation, when her own hands had slipped. She'd felt his inhalation of breath as her fingers brushed his crotch, but she'd forced herself to focus on the need to get out of the dank, dark room, and managed to push the trap door in the ceiling open just a little – before both had been sent tumbling down to the ground. But that one moment, that accidental brush of fingers, had flicked the switch, and even in their dangerous situation she felt a warm rush of arousal, and saw it flare in his eyes.

Later, at the precinct, out of harm's way and alone, she threw him a suggestive smile, and said, "Next time let's do it without the tiger."

But her eyes screamed: _tonight_.

And he understood.

He turned up on her doorstep and reached for her the moment the door was swung open. He dragged her body against his, and slid his hot, open mouth over hers. Her lips parted, and he plundered her with his tongue, while hands worked feverishly to get beneath clothing. Their own clothing. An unspoken need to quell the tensions flaring between them, without taking it too far too soon. Just a_ little_ more.

He laid her on her bed, stripped bare of all clothing, and crawled up beside her. She threw a leg over his hip, curled it around his thigh, and reached down between them. But not for him. Already slick, her fingers moved hard and fast against herself, while his hand slid up and down his shaft, trying to match her pace. And as their hands moved their lips met, and breathy sighs and low moans passed between the two. In the darkness of her bedroom, they came together, their broken sobs mixing in the air around them.

He left before the mortification could kick in; he cleaned himself off, kissed her hard, and walked away.

She wasn't ready to ask him to stay.

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><p>They shared moments, as the months passed, evenings together, finding release by their own touch while in the other's company. It never escalated; she pressed her palm to his chest, caressed his face, but it was only ever her own fingers plunging inside her. His hand smoothed over her hair, ghosted across her scars, but it was only his own palm pumping his hard length.<p>

And then Nikki Heat met Clara Strike, and jealousy did strange things to her. She stalked past him into his loft, once the case was closed, and long after his family had retired upstairs for the night. She stormed into his study, fire coursing through her veins, sparks of anger in her eyes, and it was only once she was standing and facing the bewildered man that she realized she didn't even know why she was upset. And immediately deflated. She dropped her gaze, shook her head, mumbled an apology, and turned to leave. But he was faster than her, reaching out, snagging her elbow, and drawing her body to his.

"Jealous?" he whispered into her ear.

"Mmmm," she said, in vague agreement.

His response was to rid her of her clothing, leaving it all in a rumpled puddle around her feet. He didn't remove his own, just guided her naked and wanting to his bed, eased her down on the silky sheets, knelt between her legs, and grazed his tongue along her sensitive, throbbing slit. Sucking her clit between his lips, he brought her to the brink of release, and then pulled back, over and over, teasing her relentlessly until she cried out in desperate need. When she finally came, hard around his fingers, a gush of warmth staining his sheets, she realized – as she caught her breath – that things suddenly got a whole lot more complicated.

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><p>His own jealousy flared soon after. Colin Hunt showed up, his eyes only for her, and part of her was flattered. But she ignored his advances, reassured Castle with silent looks, and subtle touches, and once the smarmy Englishman was safely on a plane she soothed any lingering concerns with her lips wrapped around Castle's shaft and her tongue snaking patterns along every inch of him. With each swallow of his load shooting down her throat she silently questioned what exactly it was they were doing – and how long such activities could continue.<p>

If they even should.

Voicing none of it, she curled her fully-clothed body against his sated one, and allowed herself to give into sleep for a couple of hours.

She awoke before dawn, pressed a kiss to the stubble peppering his jaw, and padded out, completely aware she was sneaking out. Completely aware they needed to actually talk about this.

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><p>After almost being thrown off a rooftop, and handing in her badge, she finds herself outside his home, saturated and cold, and ready to be with him.<p>

"I just want you," she murmurs, tears streaming down her face as she stands before him. She braces herself, prepared for rejection, but he meets her lips in agreement – and presses her hard against the closed door. He strips her of her clothing, her body warming beneath his touch despite her nakedness. He kisses his way down her body, between the valley of her breasts, lingering on the scar he has seen before. He breathes out against it, his lips ghosting across the marred, pink skin, and she rakes her hand through his short hair, and holds him there: her heart beating beneath his lips.

Her fingers lace with his, and she breaks the contact of his mouth on her skin, and leads him to bed. He lays her down on the sheets, both gloriously naked now, and enters her with a slow, smooth glide. Her back arches, her pelvis rises to meet his, and she inhales a broken sob at the feel of him filling her. Her leg wraps around his hip, her heel digs into his ass, and she holds him securely against her, meeting each thrust, clinging to his sides, his biceps, his hips, her hands constantly moving over his body. It builds fast, his thrusts shorten, start to lose their rhythm, and the buzz of pleasure drowns out the city outside the window. The thunder, the lightening, the rain, it all seems to stop. All she sees is him. She inhales a broken breath, unable to release it as she peaks and clenches hard around his shaft – keeping him from pulling out – before the world shatters behind her closed eyes. She falls back against the mattress, a shuddering mess, her muscles still twitching as he picks up his pace again and finds his own release with hard, fast, deep thrusts. He fills her so completely, hits all the right places, and she comes a second time, with him, fluttering around him and drawing out his own release.

He stays inside her while they shuffle together, curling up into each other's arms, his lips pressed to her forehead, her nose in the crook of his neck.

She stays there, all night, sleeping in short bursts, waking ready for another round.

And over coffee at dawn they talk.


End file.
